I’m reading ‘A House in Fes: Building a Life in the Ancient Heart of Morocco’ by Suzanna Clarke. It’s not the first time I’ve read this book and it won’t be the last. Since I read most books on an iPad / Kindle, I can see which passages impressed me the first time by the highlights placed in yellow. This time around I’ve added even more since I can relate more fully to Suzanna’s experiences. In fact, it may serve better to highlight the parts to which I don’t relate!

While vacationing in Morocco, Suzanna and her husband were inspired to purchase a home in Fes, one of the medieval walled cities that is one of Morocco’s famed ‘Imperial Cities.’ But the Clarke’s didn’t just buy any old house. They bought a dilapidated, centuries-old house with no plumbing, no electricity, and myriad other issues with which to contend! Their goal was to restore it using only traditional craftsmen and handmade materials. It’s a great story chronicling the restoration of the house, but it also offers an insight into Moroccan customs and lore, as well as a window into the lives of its people and the relationships Suzanna forges. In the end, the house, Riad Zany in Fes, is restored to probably even more than its former glory and the writer (and most likely Sandy, her husband) have ended up restoring themselves to the very core of their beings! I enjoyed the book the first time around but I’m enjoying it even more now that I have my own perspective on Morocco and home-ownership there.

The writer Paul Bowles called Morocco a place where travelers ‘expect mystery, and they find it.’ He also said, ‘Africa is a big place and will offer its own suggestions.’ There’s no better way to find these truths out than to own a house or to renovate one, like Suzanna Clarke did.

A few of the highlighted passages that strike a chord with me:

“Maybe it was a fit of madness, but on just our second visit to the old Moroccan capital of Fes, my husband and I decided to buy a house there – – as one does in a foreign country where you can’t speak the language and have virtually nothing in common with the locals.” (I strongly disagree with the last phrase. Although I barely speak the language, I find I have a lot more in common with the locals than not!)

“Nevertheless, [we] responded to Morocco in a way we had to no other country. We found it as multi-layered and intriguing as the patterns in the tile work adorning the buildings, each of which has its own hidden meaning. Morocco has the mystique of a land from the Old Testament yet appears to be coping comfortably with modernization… Outside mosques, running shoes are lined up next to pointy-toed babouches. In the souks, women wearing long robes and headscarves escort daughters with beautifully cut hair and high heels. You can eat at a street stall, in a Parisian-style cafe, or next to a tinkling fountain in an ornate courtyard. You can find yourself in the midst of a crazy, honking traffic jam, or dodging donkeys in cobbled alleyways, or riding a camel in the solitude of the Sahara.”

“There were obvious drawbacks, like the nuttiness of buying a house on the other side of the planet, a leg-cramping, blood clot-inducing, [12-hour journey] away. And just when would we actually get to spend time there? Our jobs consumed our lives…When exactly would we fit in a commitment to a property in another country?”

The writer Paul Bowles also said this: “Because we don’t know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well.Yet everything happens only a certain number times, and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more, perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty… And yet it all seems limitless.”

It’s because of this sentiment, because of the fact that I don’t know when I will die, and because now Morocco is so deeply a part of my being, that I decided to do the nutty thing of buying a house on another continent in a country where I barely speak the language! And it’s because I cannot conceive of my life without this beautiful, vibrant, and mysterious place!

I’ve owned my riad (guesthouse, home) in Marrakech, Morocco for one year. And what a year it has been! What a process of paperwork and meetings. After months and months of research, I knew I needed to start a corporation. So that came first. Naming it was the first step in that process. In the middle of one restless night I came up with the word ‘myriad’ for part of the name. I liked the word mostly because it’s ‘my riad’ when separated. Briliant, I thought. It also means countless or many, so it’s not limiting ownership to just this one riad. The final name of the corporation is Myriad Property and I love it. First step finished.

Next came the arduous task of finding an attorney (or notary as they are called in Morocco), and an accountant. Immediately I found the notary: a woman in her 40’s who is considered the best notary in Morocco. After meeting her I knew instantly she knew what she was doing and she was ‘neeshun’ or straight. Says it like it is. Follows the rules. That’s what I needed. Done.

Finding the accountant was not as easy. Especially since it was made clear from the beginning that I had no interest in doing any funny business. No corruption. I only wanted neeshun / by the rules. Finally, after about 6 interviews with various candidates, I found my man. He knows my requirement for following the rules and he’s good at that. He even calls me Madame Neeshun. Done.

Next step was to find the house. I had looked obsessively online and worked with multiple real estate agents and knew the market inside and out. Since there’s no MLS system or the like in Morocco, I saw the same house listed in various places and at various prices, all listed in Euro. Very interesting. One agent showed me a home that I fell in love with immediately! My business partner and I spent many hours at the house with the owners and it began to feel like mine, except the price was too high and I had to admit there was just no way I could afford it – – even with the falling value of the Euro (and thus, the rising value of the USD). I am still in touch with the owners and I still have hopes that the place will be mine someday. Riad #2, hopefully.

Once realizing I couldn’t afford the one I really wanted, I considered a small one that I had seen online. It really was the only other one I had any connection to, so after cancelling all other appointments with other agents, we kept the appointment with the agents who could show me this one.

We drove through the gates of Bab Doukkala and down the narrow and busy street to another more narrow street and I knew. This was my new neighborhood. I loved the vibrancy and the energy – – and the fact that there were no tourists. The agent opened the door and we walked in and I gasped! This house was mine. My partner and I both knew it.

The process was underway. There was so much paperwork that I couldn’t believe it. We made so many trips to various government agencies where we stood in long lines and saw a zillion government workers who required signatures in their multiple ledger books for cross-referencing. Everything is in French so it takes double-time to have everything interpreted. What an experience! And I loved every minute.

The most fun of all was naming the house. I wanted something pretty and also simple. So I googled a list of female Arabic names. I also knew I’d use the word ‘riad’ or ‘dar’ in front of it; both words mean guesthouse / house. I always like names that end in ‘a’ so narrowed the list down quickly. Basima was the name I first found, which means ‘smile.’ I have a friend who is named Basyma, with a ‘y’ so I pretty much knew that’s the name I wanted. She told me that spelled with a ‘y’, Basyma means ‘a big smile, almost a laugh.’ Boom. That’s it. Dar Basyma was born. And to this day I just love it.

In May 2015 we had our first guests. And a week later, two more came. And then a group of four. And then the tax man knocked on the door. “We know you’re renting out your house,” he said. “You owe us taxes.” We realized we had done almost everything except that part so after a trip to the proper agency, that was taken care of and we’ve been sailing smoothly since!

Of course there are many, many stories to be told. Business cards and a website was created, guests with strange requests came calling, unending neighborhood hijinks and gossip, etc. Look for additional posts with those details!

I bought a riad/house in Marrakech; in the old medina of Bab Doukkala! I’ll be listing it for rent, so stay tuned! Also, see my new neighborhood. I live on a dead-end ‘derb’ or street and it’s in a great area. Markets just around the corner, very few tourists, and friendly people! The Bab Doukkala Mosque is nearby so I’ll be well able to hear the call to prayer. It’s a 15-minute walk to djemaa el fna, the popular square in Marrakech.

My neighborhood

Walking from the parking

The main drag

At the corner of my street

My street

My street

Neighborhood

The meat market around the corner

Around the corner

Market!

Market

Market

My olive and olive oil purveyor

My convenience store

Restaurant nearby

Purveyor of grains and legumes

View of my neighborhood through the terrace fencing

Another view

The neighborhood fountain. “Turn at the fountain for parking.”

Driving down the street around the corner

My street

My door before painting

This is the view the Prince of Luxembourg sees when walking from his riad: my terrace!